


Forward

by Mistress_of_Squirrels



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Hallucinations, Minor Character Death, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-18
Updated: 2016-10-18
Packaged: 2018-08-23 05:30:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8315737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mistress_of_Squirrels/pseuds/Mistress_of_Squirrels
Summary: A bad trip leads John McDonough to an epiphany of sorts. The clothes aren’t too shabby, either.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This idea was much better in my head, and it probably should have stayed there. October entry for @likegoodangels image prompt contest.

It was raining again, like it had every day for the last week. John pulled the collar of his jacket up to deflect the the steady drip of water that trickled through the rotten floor boards of the balcony above him and glanced out at the leaden sky. The rain had slowed to a drizzle that didn’t look like it was going to let up anytime soon, but the clouds lacked the ominous green hue that signalled an approaching storm.

_Thank fuck for small favors._

Plain old rain was bad enough. Few drifters in Goodneighbor had access to proper shelter, and with no doctor in town to reverse the effects of radiation, a rad storm rolling in could mean a slow, agonizing death in the streets. They didn’t happen often, but John had seen it before; there was always a few missing faces in the days following a storm.

Not that many people cared about a few dead drifters. Vic, the guy in charge around here, sure didn’t.

Shoulders hunched against the chill, John leaned back against the rough brick of an empty shop and fished a crumpled pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. Only two left, he realized with a frown, and briefly considered saving them for more desperate times. He already had a decent buzz going, and with the way the weather had been, it could be days before the caravans made it back to town.

The debate didn’t last long; nicotine had a way of coming out on top in the end, and he was going to be jonesing no matter what. Might as well delay that misery for as long as possible.

He placed the cigarette between his lips and had just gotten it lit when John heard someone call his name.

“Hey, McDonough!”

Exhaling a plume of smoke, John glanced up to see a guy wave at him, familiar red hair bright against the gloom as he zipped and weaved around puddles and piles of sodden trash. John tipped his head in a nod of greeting as he tried to remember his name. Kyle? Kevin? No, Caleb. That was his name. They’d only spoken a few times, but he seemed like a decent sort. Young, and far too naive for a place like Goodneighbor, but decent.

John slid over to make room as Caleb ducked beneath the balcony. He shook the water from his clothes like a very large, very enthusiastic dog, and John bit back a grin, even as he turned to avoid the resulting spray.

“Hey, you got a spare?” Caleb asked, dropping his gaze to John’s cigarette.

With an inward sigh, John reached for his pack. “Yeah, sure.” He handed both the remaining cigarette and his flip lighter over and asked,  “So, what brings you out on this fine day?” He hoped the answer involved more than just coming over to bum his last smoke.

“Got ahold of some new stock.” Caleb shot him a wide grin as he returned the lighter. “Thought you might be interested.”

“Yeah?” John perked up at that. As far as he knew, Caleb didn’t use, but he always seemed to get his hands on the best chems. Small time stuff, nothing that would draw attention or ruffle any feathers, but a hell of a lot better than most of what was peddled around here. John still didn’t know how the guy managed that level of quality, and he’d never asked. Questions got people killed in Goodneighbor. “I’m listenin’.”

Caleb pulled two jet shooters from his pocket and held them out for John to inspect. “Hundred caps for both.”

Half the normal price. “What’s the catch?” John asked, his easy grin at odds with the slight narrowing of his eyes. It’d take a lot for him to pass up a deal that good, but he’d rather know now if he was about to step in something. At least then he’d have an idea of how much shit he’d need to scrape off his boots later.

“No catch.” John’s grin faded, and Caleb sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Look, I just need the money, and….”

And John had a reputation for flinging every last cap that came into his possession toward chems. Fair enough. “You in some kind of trouble?”

Wasn’t like he could do anything to help the guy if he was, but it’d be good to know.

“No, nothing like that,” Caleb shook his head and smiled. “I’m about to leave trouble behind.” John arched a brow and he hastened to explain,  “I’ve been saving up for a while now, and almost got enough to get me and my sister into Diamond City. It’s just…I’m so close, you know? We can finally leave this shithole behind.”

John nodded in understanding. Diamond City was real particular about who they let in, but enough grease in the right palms had a way of bending the rules. As long as you were human, anyway. He’d take his chances in a yao guai’s den before going back there, but that was personal, and John had to admit, even if it wasn’t as different from Goodneighbor as he seemed to think, Caleb would probably be better off. His sister, too. John had never talked to the girl, but he’d seen her around town a few times. Same bright hair as Caleb but not half as friendly, and that wasn’t gonna change if they stuck around here.

“Yeah, alright. Let’s find somewhere more…private.”

It wasn’t smart to go flashing money out in the open. They turned down a nearby alley, and Caleb kept a nervous eye on the entrance while John counted out his caps. He didn’t normally have that much money on him at once, but Vic’s boys tended to stay indoors whenever the weather turned. There hadn’t been a shakedown since it started raining.

The exchange was made, Caleb practically bouncing in his excitement as John handed him the caps and pocketed the jet. “Finally, this is it! As soon as the next caravan comes through, we’re out of here.”

“Could be another week or two before that happens,” John pointed out. “Why wait?” A lot could go wrong in two weeks’ time. Seemed smarter to leave while they had the best shot.

Caleb looked at him like the answer was obvious, and it took John a moment to remember that most folks didn’t wander far from home. If they were lucky enough to find a place with walls, they stayed behind them. They didn’t sneak off to one of the most dangerous towns around looking to get high.

“You go with a caravan, and you might as well paint a target on your back for every raider in the area,” John reasoned.

It wasn’t his business, but he’d seen too many good people walk out the gates and never return. He could hope they’d found their way to something better, and maybe a few even had, but deep down, he knew most of them were rotting out in the ruins.

“Look, I can show you how to get to Diamond City, if that’s where you want to go. Takes a bit longer than the main road, but it’s a hell of a lot safer.”

He’d played tour guide before, though that was usually leading folks from Diamond City. Either way, it only took a few hours of his time. No big deal, really, but Caleb acted like he’d just offered him the moon.

“Really? You’d do that?”

John nodded, suddenly uncomfortable. There was no reason for Caleb to be looking at him at like that, with awe and gratitude shining in his eyes. That shit was for heroes, not on-the-run junkies with too much time on their hands. He dropped what was left of his cigarette and ground it out beneath his heel so he didn’t have to see Caleb’s face. “Gettin’ pretty late to go today, but we can head out tomorrow if you think you’ll be ready.”

“Tomorrow?” Caleb echoed. “Yeah! Yeah, we’ll be ready. Thanks, man! Really.” He gave John a grateful smile and then left, presumably to tell his sister the news.

“Don’t mention it,” John muttered, eyes fixed on Caleb’s retreating form. He ran a hand over his face and sighed, wishing he had more cigarettes.

That night, the rain stopped, and Vic’s goons were out in full force.

John knew better than to be caught out in the open. Those guys were assholes at the best of times; a week of being cooped up indoors wasn’t likely to improve that. He stayed out of sight as much as he could, but there were plenty of other drifters that either weren’t so lucky, or too new to know how things worked in Goodneighbor.

The town was quiet, silenced by the same still dread that seemed to overcome prey while in the shadow of a predator, and like prey, the drifters tried to blend in with their surroundings. It was an instinctive reaction, but that didn’t make John hate it any less.

A sudden commotion in front of the Old State House caught his attention, and against his better judgement, John wandered over to see what the fuss was about. A crowd was already gathering, eyes round and faces sick with terror. He understood why when he saw Vic standing on the steps, hands on his hips and his mouth curved in an ugly grin.

John crept closer, but kept toward the back of the crowd, just in time to hear Vic crow “Bring him in, boys.”

The crowd parted as two men dragged a drifter forward and shoved him to the ground in front of Vic. John’s stomach pitched and rolled as he caught a glimpse of red hair. When he was sure he wouldn’t puke right then and there, he pushed his way through the throng. It wasn’t safe, it wasn’t smart, but he had to know. Once he got a clear look, his heart sank as his worst fears were confirmed. Caleb.

“Shit….”

The word slipped out, unbidden, in a rush of breath. John took a moment to scan the crowd for Caleb’s sister, praying she was somewhere safe, but it only took a few moments to pick her face out of the masses. He quickly looked away,  as powerless to help her as he was Caleb.

Vic descended the steps with a casualness that belied the malicious smirk he turned on Caleb as he stopped in front of him. “I hear you’re holding out on me, but that can’t be right.”

John’s lips pressed in a thin, hard line. It was a trap. Vic was looking for blood and any excuse would do. Caleb knew it, too, if his stubborn silence was anything to go by.

“Found this hidden in a hole behind a dumpster,” one of the goons spoke up, only too happy to escalate the situation. He tossed a canvas sack at his employer.

Vic caught the bag, and John could hear the tinny clink of metal as he weighed it in his hands. Caps, and a lot of them.

A look of panic crossed Caleb’s face as he scrambled to his feet. “That’s mine!”

“Now that’s where you’re wrong,” Vic laughed. He crossed his muscular arms across his chest and tilted his head. “See, this here is my town. That makes everything in it mine. This little fortune you’ve had hidden away? Also _mine_.”

Caleb’s hands fisted at his sides, fingers clenched so tight they shook.

_Just walk away, for fuck’s sake._

Even as the silent plea formed in his thoughts, John knew Caleb wasn’t going to let it go so easily. He was desperate, with too much to lose to consider starting over now. He should have sent Caleb to find his sister and left with them earlier that evening, but John hadn’t wanted to risk getting stuck in Diamond City for the night. Now, with Caleb nervously wetting his lips in preparation to speak, it was too late.

“You’re just another thug.”

A collective gasp whispered through the crowd and then silence fell once more as Vic’s grin faded and his eyes narrowed to angry slits. He grabbed Caleb by the shirt, dragging him forward with such force John heard the seams split.

“A thug, eh?” Vic pulled the smaller man up until they were nose to nose, with only the toes of Caleb’s shoes still touching the cracked cobblestone beneath him, and growled, “You gonna do somethin’ about it?”

“No,” Caleb admitted, looking Vic straight in the eye. “But someday, someone will. No tyrant stays in power for long.”

To his credit, Caleb didn’t flinch, and he didn’t cower or back down, despite the hollow fear shining in his eyes. He had to know what he was doing, what Vic would do. There was too much resignation behind his words to believe otherwise. John couldn’t help but admire the other man, even as a part of him wanted to yell that they were just caps. Caleb had a sister to think of.

Vic let out a laugh, a raucous guffaw that came from somewhere deep in his belly, and set Caleb back on his feet. He was still chuckling as he slapped him on the back like they were old friends sharing a joke. For a moment, John was stupid enough to wonder if that would be the end of it, but his hopes were dashed when Vic grinned, the hand that still lingered on Caleb’s thin shoulder tightening until the younger man winced.

“Looks like we got ourselves a revolutionary, boys,” Vic crowed. “Let’s show ‘im who’s in charge and why that ain’t changin’ anytime soon.”

They were on Caleb faster than John could follow. The crowd went still as a grave, the air thick with the acrid scent of fear. Bile burned the back of his throat as the dull thud of fists colliding with flesh and Caleb’s pained grunts filled John’s ears. His heart hammered in his chest, cold sweat dampening his brow and prickling at the back of his neck. In some deep corner of his mind, a voice railed at their savagery, the injustice of it, but as the attack went on, that flare of anger sputtered and died, doused by cold, helpless terror. Too afraid to move, to even breathe despite the burning ache in his lungs, all John could do was watch.

His nails bit bloody crescents into his palms when he heard a sharp crack, followed by a rattling cough. Vic stepped forward again, raising a hand, and his men fell back. Caleb was laying in the street, curled on his side. His face was a swelling mess of cuts and purpling bruises and one arm stuck out at an awkward angle. The other was wrapped tightly around his ribs. Each shallow breath drew a low, gurgling moan from the man, and John squeezed his eyes shut as he tried to forget the wet snap of bone that still echoed through his head.

He’d get bored now, like he always did after making his point. The fun was in the breaking, in leaving behind a barely breathing example for the rest of the drifters to see. Once Vic left, John would find Amari. She always said she wasn’t that kind of doctor, but she was the closest they had, and she always did what she could. She’d fix Caleb up and then -

The shifting red and orange patterns behind his eyelids went dark, and John’s eyes snapped open against his will, just in time to see one of Vic’s men hand him a sledge. Vic loomed over the prone man and raised his weapon, grinning down as Caleb peered up at him through one bloodshot eye. The sledge came down in a blurring arc, and John dropped his gaze to the filthy street, a wordless scream locked tight behind his teeth.

He should have stayed. Caleb deserved a proper vigil, and it was the least John could do, but the thought of facing the man’s sister, the silent judgement he’d see in her eyes, sent him staggering away. He could have done something - could have tried. Instead, he’d stood by and watched as Caleb was murdered, and now all he wanted was to get away. Too much of a coward to face the fact that he was a coward.

There was a busted out window around back of the Old State House that led to a storeroom in the basement, and John often went there when he wanted to be alone. Wasn’t exactly a secret, but if any of the other drifters had ever seen him, they weren’t crazy enough to try and follow. There weren’t any guards that far down, but the threat of getting caught was always right above his head.

That night he didn’t care. What was one more body in the streets? He certainly deserved it more than Caleb had. Caleb, who had taken a stand - for himself, but the rest of them, too - despite knowing that Vic would never let him get away with it. Would it have been different if they’d stood up with him in support? Maybe, maybe not. It didn’t matter now, not when keeping his head down and his mouth shut had been the easier option.

The basement was damp and dark, smelling of mildew and dust and the mustiness of old books. There was just enough of the dingy yellow light streaming in from the streetlamps outside to make out the outlines of broken display cases and the other museum junk that lined the walls, but that was fine with John; he hadn’t come down here for a tour.

He sat beneath the window, back propped against the wall, and took the two inhalers from his pocket. The first hit was hard and fast, and John didn’t bother waiting for the full effects before he took another, and then another. This wasn’t about recreation, it was escape; trying to outrun the images of bright red hair and blood slicked cobblestone stuck on repeat in his brain.

The high kicked in all at once, rolling over him with the force of a tidal wave. Suddenly too warm, he let his head fall back against the wall, cheek pressed against the cool brick. It occurred to him then, as the shadows in the store room seemed to deepen and expand, that he might have overdone it. As the darkness crept forward to engulf him, John managed a small smile. That would work, too.

He was back home. Not Diamond City - for all the time he’d lived there, the Great Green Jewel had never been home - but the little shack he’d shared with his parents and brother. It was brighter than he remembered, the colors deeper and more saturated, but everything else was the same. The little dock where he and his brother used to skip stones across the water, the boat his pops used to take him fishing in propped up for repairs on the muddy bank, the scarred bark of the tree he’d accidently hit while firing at a ‘lurk that popped up out of the lake…none of it had changed. Everything looked the same way it had the day they left it all behind. Seemed like that ought to be important somehow, but every time he thought he narrowed down why, the answer slipped away.

There was no one else around, but he had a vague memory of wanting it to be that way, so it didn’t really bother him as he sat on the dock and looked out over the water. It was quiet, even the lapping of the waves against the wooden planks oddly muffled. Every now and then he heard a distant rumble from overhead, but the sky was clear, so he ignored it, content to let his mind drift to emptiness.

His peace shattered when he caught sight of his reflection. John brushed a blond curl from his eyes and watched as the face peering up at him from the water did the same. It was the same face he’d seen in the mirror nearly every day for all of his life, but never before had such loathing welled up in him at the sight of it. John looked away, unable to meet the accusation in those blue eyes, and scrambled to his feet so suddenly he lost his balance and slipped on the rotten planks, plunging over the side of the dock and into the murky depths of the lake.

John had always considered himself a decent swimmer, but the water was unusually cold, seizing his lungs and cramping his muscles into painful knots. His legs felt like lead as kicked toward the surface, but somehow he managed, just long enough to snatch a panicked breath. He tried to call for help, his mouth filling as the weight of his boots and jacket pulled him back under. Too late, he remembered that he was alone. With his lungs on fire and his heart skipping erratically in his chest, he thought that maybe this was how it was supposed to be.

John McDonough had never been much use to anyone; not to the family he ran out on, not to the ghouls thrown out of Diamond City, and certainly not to Caleb. It made a grim sort of sense, then, that this was to be his end - useless and drowning beneath the weight of his failures.

His feet sank into the muck at the bottom of the lake just as his vision went black, and then he was breaking through the waves, too busy throwing up all the water he’d swallowed and just trying to get air back in his lungs to think about how in the hell that was even possible. When he finally caught his breath, John looked around and saw that he was no longer at the lake, but standing at the entrance to a small, partially submerged cave. The water was shallow here, only coming up to his shoulders, but the inside of the cave was pitch black. It was impossible to see how far back the cavern went, but his gut told him it was the only way out.

Behind him stretched endless miles of ocean, crystalline blue against a sky just as clear, like he’d fallen into one of those Pre War magazines. No place in the Commonwealth was so pure and untouched, yet John found himself deeply unsettled by its desolate beauty.

Turning back toward the cave, John waded toward the entrance, his apprehension growing with every step. He didn’t want to face whatever was inside - he knew that, now, as sure as he knew his own name - but the thought of remaining in that empty sea was even worse. He paused, half cast in shadow where the light would reach no farther, and took a deep breath as he stepped into the darkness. There was no way to go but forward.

John woke to a pounding headache, vaguely surprised that he’d woken at all. He let out a low groan as he tried to get his hands under him. As the sound of voices filtered down from the floor above, he recalled just where he was and froze, forehead pressed to the concrete floor, ears straining for any sign that he’d been found out. After a few minutes went by with no one rushing to find him, John relaxed and slowly sat up, wincing at the beams of sunlight streaming in through the broken window.

As though being upright were some sort of trigger, all the events of the previous day came rushing back. Vic, Caleb, the stricken look on his sister’s face… hell, he could even remember the Sugar Bombs Daisy had shoved at him for breakfast. It was only after he came down here that he started drawing a blank, and wasn’t that just like him, always getting it backwards. Score another fuck-up for John McDonough.

With a sigh, John ran a hand over his face, scratching at the overgrowth of blond stubble. He couldn’t stay down here forever, and now he was out of chems _and_ cigarettes. His head swam as he got to his feet and he stumbled, laying a hand against a tall display case for balance as he closed his eyes and waited for the room to stop spinning. The first order of business should probably be finding somewhere to sleep off the rest of his binge. Maybe he could pester Daisy into letting him crash in the back of her shop. The ghoul would give him an earful for sure, but she hadn’t turned him away yet.

When the dizziness had passed, John opened his eyes and found himself staring at the crimson velvet of a colonial frock coat. The garment had seen better days, but looked pretty good considering it had to be about six hundred years old. A few letters had chipped and faded, but he could still read the name painted behind the outfit: John Hancock.

John traced the shape of the name against the glass, calling to mind everything he’d ever learned about the man. Founding Father, smuggler, statesman. An impressive reputation, even going by his limited knowledge. Guy must have done something right to have his duds hanging in a museum, or what was left of one, centuries after the man himself was nothing but dust. John let out a bitter chuckle. Wasn’t like anyone was gonna find anything left of him in six hundred years, but guys like Hancock, they deserved to be remembered. They faced shit head on, they didn’t run from it or stand by while tyranny reigned.

That wasn’t him. John McDonough had his shot, tried and failed, over and over again. But John Hancock…. He couldn’t change the past, but there was nothing saying he couldn’t start over, leave McDonough behind in that musty basement.  

_No way to go but forward._

John frowned, unsure where that thought had even come from, but unable to deny its simple truth. He grabbed the first thing he could reach, the broken stand from a mannequin, and wrapped his jacket around one end to muffle the sound of breaking glass. His hands trembled with something like reverence as he shook the bits of glass from the coat, and when he put it on, it was as close to right as he’d felt in a long, long time.

John was through with standing by.


End file.
